


Worth the Wait

by LadyAmalthea



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Friends to Lovers, Hostage Situations, Kinda?, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sex, Sharing Clothes, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 23:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17068826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAmalthea/pseuds/LadyAmalthea
Summary: Lieutenant Hank Anderson and Sergeant Connor Stern have been partners for a couple of years, and it's clear to their colleagues that they've got a thing for each other. Then, on a snowy night before their weekend, they get a called to a hostage situation out in a freezing snowstorm.Gift for WorseMake!





	Worth the Wait

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Make_It_Worse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/gifts).



It was hardly a secret to _anyone_ at the DPD that Lieutenant Anderson and Sergeant Stern had a thing for one another. They’d been partners for just over two years after Connor transferred over from Chicago. They made a great team; Hank had a couple decades of experience under his belt, and Connor still had a rookie's enthusiasm to compliment his accolades.

 

Much to the aggravation of their fellow officers, their not-subtle-enough glances were very, _painfully_ noticeable. Four of them had already lost the secret pool that they had fucked at least once that first year, which included Hank's oldest friend Captain Fowler.

 

The chilly December weather had blasted away the mild fall, leaving everyone with dry, rosy faces from standing outside for more than a dozen or so minutes. It had already snowed twice since Thanksgiving, so at least crime had gone down a little with the cold snap.

 

At the start of their shifts, Tina and Gavin had taken to sharing office gossip. The headstrong Officer Chen had messaged Gavin with promise of some juicy new intel, so the detective smugly made his coffee in the kitchen while waiting for her to show up.

 

Right on cue, Tina walked into the office kitchen with a bubbly smile, “Reed, you might owe me some cash pretty soon.”

 

Gavin was one of the few people rooting against the potential office romance, mostly because the idea of Hank falling for the goody-two-shoes sergeant seemed so… typical.

 

“What is it, Chen?” He asked, sipping his fresh cup of burnt joe.

 

“Well, one of the IT guys had to check on Hank's computer the other day… he said he caught a glimpse of a chat window on the corner.” Tina explained, smirking as he started to make her own cup of coffee.

 

Gavin rolled his eyes, “uh huh…”

 

“There was something about them going out for drinks the other day…” She said. “Hank said he had a ‘very good time’, now it's just a matter of finding out if they did it or not.”

 

“Yeah, yeah… not really enough evidence for a case, Chen. All of us were there,” he slouched over the standing table and tapped away at the paper cup.

 

Tina poured a large helping of creamer into her own cup, “Suuuuure… you're just jealous because you got passed up for being Hank's partner.”

 

Pointing an accusing finger, Gavin barked “Hey, that has nothing to do with-”

 

“Good morning Detective Reed, Officer Chen…” Connor nodded to them both, a whisper of grogginess in his voice.

 

“Mornin’, Sergeant!” Tina chimed.

 

Connor set about his business, rinsing out his mug to fill it with a fresh. He squeezed a spoonful of honey into the cup and selected a sachet of earl grey from the assortment on the counter.

 

“Are either of you celebrating the impending holiday?” He asked, trying to make decent enough small talk.

 

Tina shrugged, “Eh, my family doesn't really do Christmas.”

 

Turning, a bit doe-eyed, Connor stuttered out, “S-Sorry… I meant that… this week is the start of Channukah.”

 

“Stern, do either of us look like we observe the fuckin’ Sabbath each weekend?”

 

“Certainly not, I suppose,” he said, pressing the bright red button of the water dispenser to fill the mug with scalding liquid. “At any rate, I hope you both have a pleasant Friday.”

 

He abandoned the hopeless attempt to get closer to his other colleagues, as was the Captain's request, and returned to his desk. His computer was still warming up for the day, so he stirred his teabag around thoughtfully as he glanced at the currently unoccupied seat across the conjoined desks.

 

Hank was usually late, which gave Connor time to prepare himself. It was getting harder and harder to patiently sit beside the man without his chest bursting.

 

It certainly didn’t happen quickly. The first few months they worked together had been tumultuous at best. Hank was consistently late, showing up grumpy and hungover. But after a particularly bad case, something changed.

 

\--

 

_They were chasing a suspect through a shipyard, after finding his home base in an abandoned warehouse. He had been smuggling crates of stolen pharmaceuticals, and, later on, they discovered it was connected to a dangerous drug cartel that used Detroit as one of their hubs._

 

_Hank and Connor were inspecting the various rooms of the building when the man had come back. When they were noticed, he gave chase. The young sergeant bolted after him, making it up to the roof when they started fighting._

 

_He was hit square in the gut, giving a sharp cry as he reeled back. He heard Hank running toward them and looked up to see the lieutenant putting the man in a headlock. Before Connor could stop him, the perp shoved his elbow into Hank's ribs, and he stumbled over the edge of the building._

 

_“No!!”_

 

_Immediately, ignoring the ache burning through his torso, he reached over the concrete barrier to lift Hank back up. He lifted so hard, in fact, that the stunned lieutenant fell over and right on top of him._

 

_They laid still, panting hard with their bodies so close. Their eyes met for a brief moment as Hank started to lift himself away, both getting lost in each other._

 

_Hank finally did roll away, standing awkwardly and turning away for a moment as Connor slowly got up._

 

_“Uhh… shit…” Hank grumbled. “We lost him. Fuck!! We almost had him and I-” He watched his partner carefully rub the back of his head, wincing at a small stab of pain. “Shit, uhh… thank you. I'm sorry for-”_

 

_Connor raised a hand, “no, of course! You're my partner, you could've fallen. We’ll… we can find him.”_

 

\---

 

Connor hadn't forgotten the feeling of Hank's larger, stronger body on top of his. He had a hard time not thinking about being close like that again ever since. Hank also started being more agreeable after that, as if to thank Connor for saving him.

 

It turned out to do wonders for their work performance, and it didn't hurt Connor's anxiety, either. His visits to the therapist felt easier, and it was much easier to drag himself to work early in the morning.

 

The truth was that Connor had fallen for Hank in a bad way and being near him became both euphoric and torturous.

 

About an hour later, Hank walked into the bullpen with a tray bearing two steaming cups. One for him, one for Fowler. They started spending more time together, talking and making up for the lost, bitter years of being separated by rank. Connor liked to think he had something to do with it, breaking through Hank's shell little by little.

 

They would debrief on the day's work and chat for a little while, and then Hank would finally sit at his own desk.

 

“Mornin’, partner,” Hank greeted this particular morning, his beard freshly trimmed. Connor watched his partner lick his chapped lips, imagining his own lips on them and…

 

“Good morning,” he finally replied. He blinked a couple of times before turning to his computer, hoping his cheeks weren't burning as red-hot as they felt.

 

Hank made no comment so he must have been in the clear. They set to work on reviewing the latest lab results, comparing notes, working through what was a normal day.

 

It was almost time for both of them to clock out when the call came in.

 

A hostage situation on a rooftop in the northern area of downtown, two already dead including the responding officer. The floor was bustling as about a dozen present officers rushed to the scene. Connor and Hank ran out to the lieutenant's car, the small police light flashing blue from the dashboard as they raced over.

 

 _“Connor, you have hostage experience, right?”_ Fowler asked through their car radio.

 

Hank turned for a quick moment, “Do you?”

 

The brunet shrugged, “Yes, but only once. I did some practical training in Chicago but I-”

 

_“Well, if you’re up to it, I want to send you out there.”_

 

He felt like he stopped breathing for a moment, “S-Sir?”

 

Even Hank took a long breath, “Jeff, are you sure about this?”

 

The radio fuzzed with static for a moment, _“Sergeant, you’re perfectly qualified, and we need this situation handled as soon as possible. You’ve run dozens of successful interrogations, I trust your ability to handle it.”_

 

The driver muted the radio for a moment, “Stern, are you sure about this?”

 

Connor gave a slight shake of his head, “I think I can handle it, Lieutenant. I…” He shuddered as they pulled up to the high-rise, several emergency vehicles already blocking the entrance. “I can do this,” he clicked the radio back on.  
  
“Captain, I’d like to have Lieutenant Anderson covering me at a safe distance and a full briefing as we ride up the elevator. Can that be managed?”

 

_“Consider it done. I’m counting on you, Stern.”_

 

One of the patrolling cops rode up with them to the thirtieth level, and they stepped out into the lavish yet horribly destroyed top floor apartment. The owner had owed money to an old business partner, who had hired a guy to take him out. So now, out on the roof in the freezing winter evening winds, he held the murdered man’s daughter by the ledge.

 

John. Daniel. Emma. Names to remember.

 

Stay calm, approach slow.

 

Hank found a well-hidden position near the shattered window, giving a reluctant nod to his partner.

 

He walked up to the destroyed glass doors to the roof, snow coming down hard with the fierce wind. “Hi Daniel, my name is Connor,” he called out to the man.

 

“H-how… how did you know my name?” The blonde man shouted back, holding the wounded girl closely.

 

“I just want to talk, but you need to let Emma go! She’s done nothing wrong!”  
  
Daniel grunted, anger flaring as he shook. “This was supposed to be an easy job! I was told no one would be here and Horowitz _lied_.”

 

Hands raised, Connor eased forward and noticed a fallen officer to his right, clutching his side; he carefully sidled toward the officer. “But that isn’t Emma’s fault. Please, let her go before you make a mistake you’ll regret.”

 

“Why should I?! Then you’ll just kill me!” Daniel shrieked and took notice as Connor knelt down beside the struggling cop. “What are you doing?”

 

“He’s injured,” Connor called back, removing his coat and tying it securely around the wound. “You don’t want any more blood spilt on your account. I’m looking out for you Daniel; please, trust me!” His voice faltered a little from the sudden cold through his relatively thin button down. “Let Emma go, and we will bring you in peacefully.”

 

“Are you armed?” Daniel asked, taking a step toward the edge with the girl in hand.

 

Connor froze, “No…no, I’m not armed. I mean you no harm. Please, let her go.”

 

Daniel nodded cautiously, “Okay… okay, I trust you.” He let go of the little, and she fell to the ground, skittering across the snow-covered cement toward Connor.

 

“They’ll warm you up inside, go ahead!” He urged her, letting her run behind him as he continued to step toward Daniel. “Horowitz… did he pay you, or was it something else?” He asked carefully, seeing that the man was still defensively standing in the corner, sneaking glances over the side of the building. “We can protect you from him if you cooperate.”

 

“He… he…” Daniel said, lowering the gun clutching in his white-knuckled hands. “He threatened my brother… I just wanted to-” He jolted as if something struck him in the head, and he raised the gun as his arms flailed.

 

“Okay… it’s okay… we’ll put your brother into protection too,” Connor offered, getting almost close enough to reach for the pistol. “I need to put you in cuffs to take you back inside, and we’ll read you your rights, call you a lawyer. Are you ready?”

 

The gun clattered against the ground by their feet, and Connor took the man inside to be brought to a holding cell at the police station. He handed the man off to a kevlar-covered team to escort him downstairs.

 

Connor leaned against a wall in the trashed living room shivering, when he heard the familiar, rushed footsteps of his partner.  
  
“Holy shit… not a sergeant for nothing, eh Stern?” The lieutenant asked, steadying a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Fuck, your jacket!” He stepped away, shrugging off his own enormous leather coat and wrapped it around Connor’s much smaller shoulders. Caringly, he felt Connor’s forehead to gauge his temperature before thumbing his ruddy cheeks. “You saved that officer and the kid… you did good, Connor.”

 

After returning to the ground floor, a small crowd started toward them; Connor was bombarded by a medic and a few members of the press. Hank eased away from the reporters, making a short statement as Lieutenant. Connor was thankful for the distraction as the EMT checked his vitals. The short exposure to the extreme cold brought his body temperature down, but he was in no danger. When he was cleared, Hank turned away from the reporters, ushering Connor wordlessly to his car. They lost the group, slamming closed the car doors into the secure quiet, the yelling and sirens just beyond, comfortably muffled.

 

“You good?” Hank checked again, starting up the car and blasting the heat.

 

Connor’s body shuddered as the warm air blew against his face, “Y-Yeah, I am. Thank you, Hank.”

 

“I’m taking you home; you shouldn’t be driving right now.”

 

“Right… yeah,” Connor worked hard to take slow, steady breaths. The warmth around him helped, and he directed Hank to his apartment building. It was out of the way from Hank’s own home address so he thanked his partner profusely.

 

The squat, brick building he called home stood before them. He almost wanted to ask if he could just go back to Hank’s house. He’d only been there to pick the man up once or twice, but imposing would probably be pushing his luck… right?  
  
“If you need anything, you can call me; all right?” Hank said, voice low and serious.

 

Connor’s body ached, wanting to reach out to Hank, ask him to stay, ask to be held for a little while.

 

“I will. Thank you for the ride, I’ll-” he leaned forward like he was magnetized toward Hank as he lingered. “I’ll see you on Monday?”

 

“Uh-hhhh… yeah, see ya,” his partner replied, giving the faintest of smiles.

 

It was late enough at night that Connor justified taking the small elevator up to his 3rd-floor apartment, trudging tiredly down the hallway. He clicked open the lock with the thick deadlock key, tossing the jingling ring to the floor and flopped onto the couch. The flannel lining of the jacket he was wearing was warm and cozy, and he dangerously decided it would be a good idea to get a small nap in before trying to make some dinner.

 

But, without a timer set, he didn’t wake back up until the morning.  


 

Even on weekends, he had an alarm set for 9am sharp. He didn’t like wasting daylight hours for his days off, even if he got home so terribly late the night before. Connor’s eyes felt dry and heavy as he blinked awake in his living room, his phone buzzing loudly in his pocket.

 

As he reached into it to turn off the annoying ringing, a realization hit him like a freight train as he took a deep breath in.

 

This wasn’t his jacket. It didn’t _smell_ like him; it was too large. Hank had let him borrow a jacket yesterday after the-

 

Oh god. He still had Hank’s coat. He _slept_ in it.

 

Immediately removing it, like he had ruined it or something, he just stared at the shapeless heap of leather and red tartan flannel on his couch. Why hadn’t Hank said anything?!

 

Ugh, he was so stupid.

 

He picked it up carefully, debating washing it as if to return the favor of letting him borrow it… but he didn’t know the first thing about caring for or cleaning leather. It couldn’t go in a washing machine, he knew that.

 

But he also shouldn’t hold on to it. Should he?  


Maybe… maybe he could use this as an excuse to see his partner outside of work for a change. It would give him the opportunity to talk to him about… Connor gulped… _his feelings._

 

He knew Hank well enough that he wouldn’t be up this early, so he opted to draft up a text message about the issue.

 

_Good morning Lieutenant. It seems I still have your jacket that you let me borrow. Would you like me to-_

 

No, too formal. It was a weekend, and they were… friends? Right? His face burned; he wished they were much more than that, but he was never sure if Hank returned the sentiment or not. It was difficult to tell, even for an investigator.

 

_Good morning Hank. I still have the jacket you let me borrow, I’m very sorry for not returning it to you before you dropped me off. Do you want it back?_

 

 _Well, of course, Hank would want it back_ … he berated himself as he re-typed the message.

 

_Hey Hank… I’m sorry, I still have your jacket. Would you like me to return it to you today?_

 

He hit send, suddenly remembering that he left his car at the station. That meant he would have to take the bus, which was usually the worst on Saturday mornings in his neighborhood. But, he owed as much to Hank, and it meant he wouldn’t have to ride the bus Monday morning or bother Hank for a ride…

 

Stomach groaning, he decided that he might as well make breakfast as long as he was waiting for a response. He pulled out the half-eaten loaf of bread from the cabinet, slotting two slices into the toaster and retrieving some raspberry jam from the fridge. The small jar had a neatly printed label from his mother’s farm down in Ohio. He had gone down to visit her in the summer, cooking down this particular batch of jam himself from the raspberries that grew along the edge of her property. She sold mostly seasonal goods, but kept a greenhouse with rose bushes year round, only clipping the blooms for friends when they needed them.

 

The wafting scent of whole grain and sweet berries distracted him enough to not notice that his phone was buzzing across the counter. Hank was calling him.

 

He nearly dropped the device as he picked it up, pressing the green button, and staring at the screen for a moment before raising it to his ear.

 

“Hello?” He greeted.

 

_“Connor, are you all right?”_

 

“Umm… yes, I - I messaged you about your jacket?” He said a little awkwardly.

 

The was a pause, and a small sigh on the other line that turned into a breathy laugh. _“Oh, right… fuck, I’m sorry. I saw you messaged me and wasn’t sure if you- uhhh, anyway… so, my jacket?”_

 

As if to confirm its existence, Connor walked back into the living room and looked at the coat where he left it. “Yeah, would you like me to return it to you? This evening, perhaps?”

 

_“Sure! Yeah, I mean… uhhhh… listen, since you’re coming all the way out here, do you want to have dinner? I dunno… I feel like you deserve something for saving that kid yesterday.”_

 

Oh… oh! “Y-yes, I’d like that very much. Should I bring anything?”

 

Suddenly they were making plans, and Connor felt guilty. He wanted this to be a short commitment so he could leave and never show his face again if it didn’t pan out. But, maybe this was better, this could be _perfect_.

 

 _“Eh, if you wanna pick up some beer, or something? Bring what you’d wanna have, I’ll order some pizza,”_ Hank offered.

 

Perched on the edge of his couch, Connor couldn’t help a hopeless smile. “I’ll see you at six?”

 

_“Sounds grea- good! Uhh… see you then, Connor.”_

 

The call ended, and the young sergeant stared at his phone while his breakfast went cold in the kitchen. Maybe he should… get cleaned up a little. He scarfed down breakfast and decided to bite the bullet and get the bus ride out of the way.

 

Right… pick up his car first, and come back to his apartment to shower before going over to Hank’s. Would it be presumptuous to bring a change of clothes? He would just leave it in his car, and he tossed the change of jeans and t-shirt into a bag before taking off.

 

The bus ride was tolerable, if cramped. He snuck through the back entrance of the precinct to grab his car keys from his desk, nearly speeding home. That left him with just about four hours to clean around the apartment and get ready.

 

He started with a shower, knowing his thick hair would take forever to dry. Hot water was typically hit or miss with his building, and he was thankful when he left the tap cranked up and warm water did eventually start to come out.

 

The warmth and steam did wonders for him; even though his apartment was heated enough, his body still ached from the terrible sleeping position last night. _But, it was worth it…_ he thought. He may have woken with a sore neck, but it was some of the deepest sleep he had gotten in weeks. After scrubbing his hair thoroughly, generously replenishing his natural oils with some conditioner, he moved on to some more… intimate grooming. He wasn’t one to go crazy with maintaining body hair. And even if nothing happened, which at this point was probably the most likely outcome, it would at least give him a secret confidence.

 

But then he thought about Hank touching him… kissing every inch of him… he wasn't paying attention and almost immediately nicked himself. The small cut, just at the crest between the trimmed and untrimmed areas, and it burned as water streamed over it. He immediately shut the shower off, carefully stepping out while dripping wet to keep the cut from getting infected.

 

Great. Not exactly part of his seduction plan, huh?

 

All he had in his medicine cabinet was a set of ridiculous, pastel-colored Band-aids that his mother sent in a care package. They were several years old at this point, but still good. He picked one at random, more focused on applying antiseptic gel before tearing open the paper protector. As he placed it carefully over the cut, he chuckled to himself that he managed to get a beautiful baby blue color out of the random assortment. Checking the mirror, it definitely wasn't the _worst_ place to need a bandage. But, maybe he could take it off before he left?

 

Nearly finished anyway, he toweled off and worked on trimming his face, brushing his teeth, and then a ten-minute internal debate about whether or not to trim his eyebrows.

 

The time ticked away while he did some chores, waiting until he was almost ready to leave to finally get dressed. He grabbed a comfortable grey sweater to go with his jeans, an outfit far from what he would wear to work. He wondered briefly if Hank dressed down on the weekend too, something other than his famously odd-patterned shirts that Connor couldn't get enough of each day.

 

About an hour before he was due at Hank's, he started getting uncomfortably jittery. He left early to pick up beer, the leather jacket folded neatly on the passenger seat beside him. Filling his old car with gas, standing out in the cold as handfuls of snowflakes started to come down from the sky. Connor hadn't checked the weather, and they just had a big storm earlier that week. It would probably be fine.

 

He missed the turn for Hank’s neighborhood, resigning to be a few minutes late by having to take the next exit further down the highway. Eventually, he made a left onto Michigan Drive, and his phone helpfully informed him that his destination would be on the right.

 

It was a fairly small place, which didn’t surprise Connor based on what he knew about his partner. He knew the man lost his son in a bad car accident just a year before Connor came to Detroit, so it was just Hank and his dog. He was a simple man, not that he was uninteresting, but he was conscious of what he did and didn't need. He certainly didn’t need a fancy three-bedroom in a well-to-do suburb, even if he could afford it. It was another one of the hundreds of things Connor liked about his partner: he was so humble, even though Connor believed he deserved the world.

 

Parking behind Hank's car, he collected the six-pack and jacket before steadying himself with a deep breath.

 

It was just dinner. Just dinner with his partner, Hank, who he had been quietly in lo-

 

“Hey Connor,” The front door was open before him, and he stopped in surprise. “Wasn't your car at the station?”

 

The young sergeant gulped, “Uh, yeah. I had some errands to run today, so I needed to pick it up anyway.” He insisted.

 

Hank nodded, giving a look like he didn't quite buy Connor's flustered excuse. “Well, c'mon in. I just brought Sumo out to the backyard before you pulled up,” Connor walked in before Hank closed the door against the snow-flecked winds. “Fuckin’ freezing outside this week,” he commented.

 

Connor took note that Hank wasn't wearing shoes, and set down the beer to remove his own. He held out the jacket to Hank, his whole purpose of coming in the first place, almost a little sad to see it returned.

 

“Thanks again for bringing it back. I figured dinner was the least I could do for the trouble. Besides, we haven’t really-” Connor tilted his head, watching Hank run his thumbs along the folds of the jacket. “I feel bad we don't do much outside of work.”

 

Distracted from his shoes, he stood haphazardly and half-bent over to look at Hank while he spoke.

 

“We've come a long way since we were first assigned together,” Connor said, smiling.

 

Hank huffed a chuckle, “That we have.” The moment was interrupted by a loud _boof_ from the back door, “That'll be Sumo. Brace yourself when he comes in and don’t let him jump up at you.”

 

Connor gave a nod, turning his head as a warm, toothy grin appeared on his face.

He finished pulling off his shoes, leaving them on the welcome mat as the enormous dog bounded over toward him. “You must be Sumo,” he greeted, extending a palm out to show he was friendly. The hand was ignored as he was sniffed all around, nudged by the hips until the beast gave his approval by letting Connor rub his ears.

 

“Anything you like on your pizza?” Hank asked from the kitchen, a brightly-colored menu in one hand and his phone in the other.

 

“Preferably no pineapple,” Connor said, gently pushing past Sumo the put the beer in Hank's fridge.

 

Hank rolled his eyes, “Well, ready enough I guess,” he muttered before calling in their order.

 

He didn't mean to snoop, but while Hank was distracted with the call, Connor took the moment to look around the conjoined rooms.

 

There was a pretty sizable assortment of vinyl records, a few worn favorites sat just to the side of the player. The wall-sized bookshelf was filled with not just books but some photos and little trinkets as well. He browsed through the titles, seeing if there was any particular arrangement among them.

 

In one of the higher shelves, there was a small collection of children's’ books, and Connor’ heart ached just a little. He turned away sharply, surprised when he came suddenly face with face with his host.

 

“Ahh- sorry!” He said immediately, his voice squeaking on its own. Embarrassment became branded on the apples of his cheeks and his partner’s reactionary smile didn’t help.

 

“Heh… sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized. “Hey, so… are you sure you’re alright? After last night?”

 

The whole ordeal on the roof seemed like some horrid fever dream; Connor wasn’t quite sure yet how to process it. He tried not to give it much thought, but the reminder drew out a harsh breath like he had been thrown out into a snowstorm. “I’m f-fine. It was…” He leaned back carefully against the bookshelf to steady himself, “all in a day’s work for us, right?”

 

Hank’s lips turned a little sideways, “I mean, we’ve been on homicide for two years; I didn’t even know you’d done that shit before.” He grumbled, scratching the back of his head, “Kinda made me realize I don’t know as much about you as I thought, and I-”

 

The thought was interrupted by Hank’s phone ringing, and he cursed just before answering it. “Hello? Yeah, I just placed an order, is it- What? It’s hardly doing anything out there! ...Well, sure it’ll get worse, but that’s why we have fucking all-wheel drive, Johnny.” Connor looked on, piecing together the problem as he listened to Hank’s half of the conversation. “Yeah, five-dollar voucher my ass…” He hung up the call, “Fuck…well, hope your heart wasn’t set on pizza.”

 

“I could make dinner?” Connor offered.

 

“No, you’re a guest in my house, I’m not gonna make you-”

 

Connor interjected, leaning forward with a small burst of excitement. “You wouldn’t be ‘making me’, I really wouldn’t mind,” he said. “As… as a thank you for borrowing the jacket?”

 

The lieutenant took a long pause to deliberate, finally giving in with somewhat of a defeated nod of his head. “Sure… sure all right. Can’t say I didn’t warn ya, but I don’t have a lot to work with.”

 

Rolling up the sleeves of his sweater, Connor started into the kitchen to inspect what was available, with Hank lingering behind awkwardly. He pulled the six-pack out of the lower shelf, setting it on the small dining table. He pulled open a few drawers until he found a bottle opener, offering it to Hank.

 

“Fuck… I’m gonna get you back for this,” Hank said, flicking off the caps of two bottles, setting one on the counter for Connor.

 

The younger man smiled as he sorted through the meager contents of the fridge, switching to the freezer. “Is that so?”

 

“Yeah. I mean you got the beer, and now you’re doing dinner. Remind me to take you out to dinner one of these days, somewhere nice,” he said, leaning against the counter.

 

Connor turned open-mouthed, “Out to dinner?” he parroted.

 

The implication finally dawned on Hank as he was taking a sip of beer, suddenly choking on it as a little of it sprayed from his nose. “Fuck!” He yelled, wiping at his face. Connor had spotted a roll of paper towels on the counter, moving around Hank to rip a piece of for him, and offering it with a gentle tap on his arm. “Thanks,” he said nasally, blowing his nose into it, drying the beer off of his mustache and beard.

 

With Hank distracted, Connor decided to take another small step forward. “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t be opposed to going out to dinner. I’d like to get to know you better, too,” Connor stared down at the floor, at his hands as he rubbed them together. His partner stayed quiet, the section of paper towel held tightly in his hands. “Or… or not? If you don’t-”

 

“Connor,” Hank murmured, his half-lidded eyes of steel blue looking up.

 

They moved in together slowly, magnetically. Neither of them were quite able to control the short pants as their lips drew closer, each glancing between their eyes and their lips. Both wanting to be sure. Both silently praying that it wasn’t a dream.

 

It was a soft peck at first, just enough for Connor to taste the beer that lingered on Hank’s lips, but he wanted desperately to taste more of Hank’s mouth. He eagerly moved in again, hardly giving his partner a moment to breathe as they crashed into one another. Connor whined, humming into the needy kiss and reaching his hands up to the burly chest in front of him.

 

Hank gained a feeling of boldness and gripped Connor’s hips to pull him in close, helping to lift him just slightly to make up the height difference. “Mmm… fuck-” Failing at getting a word in edgewise, the man chuckled as he physically pushed Connor off. “You wanna… bedroom?”

 

The lack of eloquence was made up for in burning sincerity; Connor nodded and was dragged around the corner to the painfully untidy bedroom.

 

“Shit, sorry… I wasn’t really expecting-” Connor shushed Hank with his lips, straddling him on the edge of the bed, only breaking away again when Hank smiled and laughed. “That’s a bit of a lie, actually.”

 

“Thank fuck,” Connor smiled, knocking Hank over and adorning the man’s neck with affection. He leaned into the curve of the larger man's body, absorbed in the same intoxicating scent that lined the borrowed jacket. Between the sucking smooches along Hank’s neck and slowly revealed collarbone and chest, Connor whispered to him. “I can’t tell you… how much… I’ve wanted you… for so long…” He undid the top few buttons of Hank’s shirt, appropriately patterned with various patchworked squares. The chest hairs tickled his nose, but before he could go any further he was taken by the waist and rolled onto his side.

 

A soft _oof_ escaped him, still wrapped in Hank’s giant hands as their hips were pressed together. He could feel the tightly constricted bulge in Hank’s jeans and gingerly rubbed his own crotch on the man’s thigh. The chest pressed to his rumbled, Hank humming hungrily as his hands traveled to the hem of Connor's sweater. The touch was nearly blistering upon Connor's belly; a thumb found his belly button, tracing around it before moving down, down, further down.

 

The brunet was just about ready to rip his own pants off there and then, the anticipation making him groan helplessly into another kiss.

 

“That eager, Con?” Hank asked, earning another noise between the hot breaths.

 

The young man finished his work of exposing Hank's upper body, working the last few buttons before starting on the button of Hank’s pants. He could feel the clasp of his own jeans coming undone, a swarming mix of impatience and a sudden shakiness to slow down.

 

His button and fly were opened but the pants remained, as Hank sat up and away to remove his shirt.

 

Connor knew Hank had been on the force for years, dealing with some pretty gruesome situations, but he wasn't quite prepared for the scars that were revealed when the shirt came off. Two closed bullet holes, one over his stomach and one in his shoulder. A few slices, almost silvery like his hair from years of never quite healing. It was a fate he knew he was signing up for, as well.

 

He felt silly removing his sweater, no marks quite like the ones Hank had on his torso. Plenty of birthmarks, thanks to genetics. It wasn’t until noticing his partner’s battle history that he was reminded of his own, singular remnant of a situation gone wrong on his back.

 

There was no moment to think about it, however, because the moment his shirt hit the floor, Hank was leaning into him. They knelt on the bed, chest to chest, warmth and sweat gathering as they smashed their lips together. It wasn’t long before Connor took a chance and flicked his tongue along Hank’s mouth, and the gesture was returned fervently as a slick muscle grazed his teeth.

 

Heavy petting started again, and Connor became much more aware of the mark on his back as Hank’s hands started to explore. He tensed a little at the touches as Hank got closer, finally feeling the indentation on the bottom of his right scapula; Connor buried his face into Hank’s shoulder. There was a moment of hesitation as the hand jerked away, only for both of Hank’s large palms to lay mirroring one another across Connor’s spine. Hank blindly studied the same spot on either side, “Is this from Chicago?” He asked in a shaky voice.

 

Connor nodded, nuzzling into the man’s shoulder. “You have a few yourself,” he murmured, sifting his fingers through his partner’s longish hair.

 

Humming in agreement, Hank continued to caress Connor’s supple skin, easing him down into the pillows and nestling both of them into the plush comforter. The brown curls were ruffled around, some strands falling over his forehead and clinging to the damp skin.

 

His previous hesitation had flown out the window because of the growing need in his pants, and he could tell Hank was aching for some relief as well.

 

Connor started to shimmy Hank's jeans down from his hips, revealing faded boxers with a considerable mass pressed against the button-closed fold in the front. With a wry smile, Hank slid away and off the bed to take them off the rest of the way, along with the underwear. His hairy, thunderous thighs matching the rest of them, and revealing another tattoo to his partner. And his erection… God, Connor could _cry_ from how much he wanted to be split apart with the beautiful thing.

 

“Your turn,” he warned, before leaning over Connor. He hooked his fingers around two belt loops and tugged off the denim, turning them inside out as he removed them. Connor looked away, flustered, propping himself up by his wrists. Eyes closed and lip nearly bleeding from how hard he was biting it, the large hands started to pull his boxer briefs away, and looked up upon hearing a concerned gasp.

 

Shit… the bandage…

 

He reached one hand forward to cover it, “I’m sorry, I forgot that I-”

 

“What happened?” His partner asked, bracing a knee against the bed between Connor’s legs.

 

“It's a…. A razor cut.”

 

Hank sucked a quick puff of air through his teeth, giving Connor a sympathetic look. You wanna leave it on? Just in case?” He asked. Connor merely shrugged, wordless. Hank locked eyes with his for a moment, bringing one of his own hands to his lips to kiss the meat of his thumb, and then rubbing the digit gently over the little blue covering. “It's alright… it’s cute. Did you do this for me?” Connor made an uncertain noise, and then Hank corrected himself. “What I mean is… I find it sweet. I'm sorry I didn't do the same.”

 

Connor sat up a little more, “No no, you didn't need to! You look…” he gulped, “you look wonderful, Hank. Just the way you are.”

 

A hint of rosiness graced Hank's cheeks, “Shit… you're too much,” he said, continuing to remove what was left of clothing on Connor's body.

 

The briefs pulled away, Connor’s dick bobbed in release; the tip leaking a few beads of glistening pre-cum. Hank’s eyes were all over him, and the prone brunet bit on his knuckles as his body was studied so closely.

 

Gentling coaxing him by the ankles, Hank dragged Connor so his hips were resting at the very edge of the bed, sliding one of the legs up against his chest to expose everything between his lean legs. “Fuck… you’re so gorgeous…” Hank commented thoughtfully, rubbing his hands just far away enough from anything sensitive that Connor began to writhe needily.

 

“God, Hank…” His voice struggled through the heavy breaths, “I n-need… ohh… I need you inside me… _please_ …”

 

Hank’s fingers brushed along the skin of his thigh, slowly and meticulously getting closer toward the tightly puckered hole. He could see it clench and unclench as Connor tried to relax, letting the pad of one of his fingers stroke along it; Connor’s back arching into the sensation.

 

The younger man caught a glimpse of the slight gap between Hank’s front teeth as he smiled down at him, a blooming warmth striking his chest at the view. Hank had never looked at him that way before, and he was certain he had never seen Hank so happy. It was a beautiful change, relieving in a way, seeing him without the usual creases of stress along his forehead and between his brows.

 

He could hardly think further on the topic when the tip of Hank’s finger tried to wiggle into him, making him wince at the pressure. Leaning over, his partner’s long arms managed to open the drawer of the bedside table, taking a long second to get a grip on the cylinder of lube that his hand produced forth.

 

“I’m not sure how much longer I can wait to fuck you, Con…” Hank admitted as his drizzled the lubricant over his fingers.

 

Connor chuckled lightly, “You’re not the only one…”

 

Humming, Hank brought his fingers back between Connor’s buttocks, “Try to loosen up for me, then.”

 

A thick finger entered him, vicious and _big_. Throwing his head back, Connor instinctively tightened around it for a moment before taking it out on the sheets beneath him. Taking large folds of fabric in his hands, his pants were adorned with the tiniest of moaning noises as he forced the muscles to relax. He gave Hank a nod to continue, watching in agonizing delight as he was slowly spread open. One finger became two, and then a few.

 

“You sound amazing, and just from my fingers,” Hank commented, making Connor squeak.

 

In a flash, he was suddenly empty. “F-fuck, Lieutenant!” He cried out, tugging hard at the bedding until he felt a large warmth press up against his entrance, eyes rolling up as Hank drew nearer.

 

Even though he was _very_ warmed up, he knew that was going to be nothing compared to Hank’s size. He glanced down, just to remind himself, giving a hushed whimper as he mentally prepared himself. And then he met Hank’s eyes: cool, blue, and looking at him with the most lustful adoration. It made him roll his head to the side, bashful before this wonderful person he had pined for.

 

“What’s that look for?” Hank asked, giving his own soft smile. He still hadn’t started moving in yet, but he leaned forward just enough to cup a hand around Connor’s pulsing cheek.

 

His voice was breathy and melodic, “Just you… I want to look at you.” With a loving gentleness, he parted his lips around the hand, just below the thumb; at the same time, raising his hips to push the member into him. Their mouths fell open in unison, and Hank started to push forward.

 

“Oh shit,” even Hank sounded a little airy, “You good?” He slowed his already languid pace, and Connor shook his head furiously.

 

“N-no! I mean…. yes, don’t stop! _Please!_ ” He squirmed, an idea striking him. Raising his hands to Hank’s shoulders, he nudged the man to roll off of him.

 

Hank smirked curiously, pulling out and settling onto his back. Connor smoothed a hand over Hank’s thigh, grabbing the lube with another. He gave a fresh coat of it over Hank’s beating red cock, giving it a good shining polish before climbing over the man’s sturdy body.

 

Once in position, he looked down his nose to Hank’s amazed face, “You sure about this?” The man asked his partner atop him.

 

Mouth open but no intent on replying out loud, Connor slid down onto Hank’s erection. His back arched as he realized he was just a tad in over his head, and Hank entwined their fingers together. “I gotcha… you can do it, baby.”

 

The name sent a new fiery flash of desire through him, dropping further down until he was absolutely full. Hank gave a little thrust upwards, the silence broken by a groan.

 

Connor was quick to start moving his hips along the thick, protruding dick. He set the pace, easy going but deliciously uneven. The legs behind him bent at the knees, and he leaned back to leverage himself and go a little rougher. His prostate was hit so perfectly sweetly, and it was every bit of what he had been waiting for.

 

The large man beneath, enraptured as he was, wasn’t going to last very long; he brought their joined hands up Connor’s hips and bucked at a rampantly desperate speed. The sudden change left his partner crumbling into a babbling mess; his throat too dry from panting so hard to so much as warn his partner that he was getting close too. Instead, he whipped his left hand toward his crotch, getting Hank to stroke him just enough until he was blindsided but a white-hot orgasm.

 

As his cum streamed out of him, spraying across Hank’s chest, he choked as he squeezed around Hank to feel his climax as he fell apart. The sensation came almost immediately after, the liquid bursting into him as a low growling moan filled the room. It leaked out of him in dribbles, both of them catching their breath before daring to move. Connor eventually relaxed and leaned forward to lay across Hank, the softening cock sliding out of him.

 

He listened to the thumping heartbeat near his ear, feeling peaceful and floaty. Hank sighed as he held Connor a little closer, “You’re gonna spend the night. No way in hell I’m letting you leave after that.”

 

Connor hummed a gentle laugh, “That sounds amazing.”

 

He was kissed on the top of his head, his curls brushed away to make way for more. “ _You’re_ amazing…”

 

\---

 

Another Monday morning, another shitty work week.

 

With his usual displeasure, Gavin went straight to the kitchen to preoccupy himself with making coffee. It wasn't a particularly fun weekend, either, getting snowed in for most of it and missing $2 tequila shots night at his favorite bar. Detroit winters sucked.

 

He dragged his drowsy self to the coffee maker, deciding to make a few others less miserable by making a fresh pot. Dumping the stale shit left from the graveyard shift officers, he plucked the bag of grounds from the cupboard, making a mental note to ask the nice android receptionist to order more.

 

As the machine streamed and popped as it percolated, Chen walked in with sleepy eyes.

 

“Good morning, Officer,” he greeted, his voice a tad rough from its lack of use through the weekend.

 

Tina threw him a look, “Yeah, ‘good morning’ yourself… one of us got called in on Saturday because Wilson’s kid got sick.”

 

Gavin grabbed her a mug from the cabinet, “Well that's some shit. Just like a Wilson, right?”

 

She half-smirked, “Sure… just ready to get this day over with.”

 

“You and me both,” Gavin assured.

 

They stood around the high table, commiseration about their shitty weekend, when Sergeant Stern walked in. His usual button down was covered with a long-sleeved sweater, no surprise given how cold the office was this morning.

 

For the most part, they ignored him as he set about making his tea. That is, until a few minutes later when Anderson strolled into the kitchen.

 

The conversation between the two lower-ranking officers ground to a halt when they both caught sight of something: it was hardly 9am and Lieutenant Hank Anderson was _smiling_. He had a glimmer in his eyes as he greeted his partner at the counter.

 

Tina and Gavin exchanged glances, noticing Connor whisper something to Hank, Hank whispering back, and the two of them chuckling like school girls as they returned to their desks together.

 

“Fuck…” Reed muttered under his breath. He looked down at the table, seeing Chen's arm outstretched and her palm up and open.

 

“Pay up, bitch.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and thank you to WorseMake for the prompt!
> 
> This was to commemorate hitting 100 Twitter followers, so come say hi:  
> Come say hi on Twitter: [LadyAmalthea](https://twitter.com/canticumexvacui?s=09)


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